All Part of the Job
by starofoberon
Summary: Brief one-shot follow-up to "Talisman," part of the "Home Demo" universe. Snapshot of life in the new relationship. Originally intended as second half of earlier story, but didn't wind up that way. Heed warnings, please! This universe not for everyone!


_Usual disclaimers, not mine, all theirs, yada yada. Let's hear it for ABC, CBS, Mark Gordon Co., Erica Messer, and the whole gang of writers, not to mention the awesome actors who give our favorite characters' lives their flesh, blood, and bone._

_The action here occurs a month or so after "Talisman." I had intended it as part of the same story, but its tone and point of view are sufficiently different that it seemed best presented as a second, much shorter, story. _

_Thank you to everyone who reads my stories, who favorites, and especially takes the time and effort to review them. Your feedback is better than dark chocolate Klondikes!_

_Thank you in particular to the fabulous betas who keep me as error-free as I'm gonna get:_

_(1) the incomparable Kuria Dalmatia, who holds my plot, themes, and characterizations to the fire in all the most constructive ways;_

_(2) and she who must not be named, the shy and retiring researcher (and a total freaking Libra, OK?) who polices my grammatical butt and makes me look good._

**This story contains mild consensual verbal and physical violence, plus more than a hint of slashiness. You have been warned, people. **

**Ain't gonna like it, shouldn't oughta read it. **

**~ o ~**

**All Part of the Job**

Nothing in the case was going as planned. Everyone was lying, even—hell, _especially_—local law enforcement, scrambling to cover for their own earlier errors. As the members of the BAU trudged back to their hotel, Reid could tell that Hotch was having a lousy night and that sleep would elude him.

Being a Master is a heavy responsibility.

After a reasonable period of time had elapsed, he treated himself to an iced coffee from the barista in the lobby, passed on the elevator and climbed the stairs to the third floor, entered his room, and called Aaron.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

There was a tiny hesitation, in which Spencer could read all of Aaron's need, his insecurity, and his frustration that their compact forbade getting together on work time.

"Yes," Hotchner said finally.

"Good. I presume that your bed is covered with file folders?"

"You presume correctly."

"Excellent. Listen, we're going to have a little fluffernutter time, you and I, over the phone. Do you understand me?"

"Over the…?"

"Do you understand me, Aaron?"

"Yes." Hotchner's voice had changed completely. It was soft, respectful. Eager to please.

"Good. Now clear all that crap off your bed. Pile it on a dresser or something. Tell me when you're done."

Hotchner set the phone down and Reid could hear through his own phone activity in the hotel room that was located somewhere down the hall. "I'm done," Hotch said at last.

"Good. If I asked you to send me a picture of your bed with no file folders on it, would you do that for me?"

"Hold on—" Hotchner's instant willingness told Reid everything that he needed to know about how compliant the Unit Chief had been.

"No, I was just asking. You don't need to do it."

"All right."

"OK, I need you to reduce the light to the absolute minimum you can manage, I think the first setting on the bedside lamp is your best bet," Reid instructed.

"Done."

Reid leaned back on the pillows and took a small sip of his iced coffee. "I need you take off all of your clothes and get in under the sheet—and bring your clothespin."

Hotchner sighed. He set down the phone again and Reid heard quiet sounds—the rattling of hangers, the rustling of fabric, and at last, the squeak of springs. "I'm here," Hotchner said quietly.

"Do you trust me to know your needs better than you know them yourself?"

"Always," Aaron whispered, and the warmth in his voice sent a rush of satisfaction through Spencer.

"I'm glad to hear that. All right, now: Take the clothespin and attach it to the lower side of your penis, close to the base."

A faint sound of dismay, but all that Hotch said was, "A little bit, or a lot?"

"Entirely up to you. Both options are unpleasant."

After a brief pause, Aaron gasped, "Done."

"Excellent. Now hang on to the phone with one hand, and put the other hand on your thigh."

"Done," Hotchner panted, with a kind of uptone that suggested that he hoped the next command would be to remove the clothespin.

"Good. Now, count slowly for me—"

"No," Aaron whimpered, then stammered, "I mean, one. Two."

"Oh, there you go," Reid sighed theatrically. "Breaking the rules again. Now you'll have to start over again, and with each number, I want you to add, 'thank you for disciplining me.'"

"One, thank you for disciplining me," Aaron gasped, "two, thank you for disciplining me—" He paused to catch his breath and when he started again, his voice was high and tight and he was running all the words together. "Three, thankyoufordiscipliningme, four—"

"Slow down," Reid commanded. "And open your thighs a little more."

"Four," his chief whimpered, "thank you for disciplining me, five, thank you for disciplining me—"

"Slower! Don't force me to make you start again from the beginning."

"Six," Aaron mewled. "Thank you for disciplining me."

"What a wimp! You sound like a man who needs his nipples pinched, too."

"Seven," Aaron said more forcefully, his desperation throbbing in every syllable. "Thank you for disciplining me. Eight—"

When he got to ten, Reid said, "Stop."

Hotchner all but sobbed his relief.

"Remove it." He heard a hiss as circulation returned to the injured part of Hotchner's genitals. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Aaron whispered.

"Good. Now lie flat with your legs spread wide and concentrate on the pain. Hold the phone in one hand and the headboard with the other. You do not have permission to touch yourself in any way. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Concentrate on the pain. When it turns into a warm burn, let me know."

Reid leaned on one elbow and took a long drink of his iced coffee as Aaron's panting and gasping slowly subsided. He caught sight of a book he had meant to read that evening, but turned away from it; it was his responsibility as a master to be completely there for his slave.

"Warm burn," the voice in Reid's ear panted.

"Throbbing?"

"Yes."

"Enjoy it. Embrace it." Reid listened for a moment. It was that peculiarity of cross-wiring, that physical confusion of a warm burn with sexual desire, that fueled many a sub's addiction. "Now you may touch yourself. Let me know when you're close."

He lay back, eyes closed, and enjoyed the sound of Aaron Hotchner pleasuring himself, gently brushing the fly of his own khakis from time to time, but not too vigorously, because it wasn't yet time for his own release.

"C-close," Hotch panted at last.

"Good," Reid cooed. "Finish yourself off now; you know how to do it." He was unable to repress a grin when Aaron gave a thin wail of ecstasy. "Good one?"

"God, yes," Hotchner groaned.

"Good. Now clean yourself up and go to sleep. We're done—and… " Reid hesitated, because it never paid to give a submissive too much praise, then he decided to go with it. "I find your obedience and your responsiveness…most pleasing."

"Thank you," Hotch whispered.

"Good night."

"Good night."

Reid thumbed his phone off and sighed heavily. The truth was, Aaron Hotchner was the most perfect sub he had ever had, better even than his first, Julian, who had been his benchmark for excellence since his college days.

But a Dom's pleasure was often secondary, and Reid had postponed his satisfaction long enough. He opened his pants and reached into his shorts, his eidetic memory replaying exactly for him every moan, every whimper, every sigh that Aaron had breathed into his ear. Before long, he exploded into a tissue with a gasp of relief.

Both men would sleep more soundly, and awaken more refreshed, but Reid would keep an eye on his superior's tension levels if the case continued to frustrate everyone.

A Dom's work is never done.


End file.
